


even as a shadow.

by tevinterr



Series: even as a shadow (even as a dream) [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Break Up, F/M, Lucid Dreaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 14:49:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3176436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tevinterr/pseuds/tevinterr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the dreams continue in varying intensity and sometimes he finds himself seeking out specific places in the fade where the veil is thick and near impermeable just so he doesn’t have to worry about seeing her. when she does reach him, sometimes her image is so clear he can count the freckles on her face, the flecks of carmine in her amber eyes, which narrow with passionate resentment as he banishes her over and over again before she can stop him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	even as a shadow.

> _"come back. even as a shadow, even as a dream."_  - euripides, from  **herakles**

he knows she has to seek him out herself in dreams of the fade in order for him to see her again, this much is true. he’s dreamed with her enough times to teach her certain ins and outs of his lucid tricks, not ever enough to actually learn the talent herself, but enough to allow her to reach out to him specifically if she so desires.

he doesn’t know why he thought the dreams would stop after he left the inquisition, after he’d left her standing there at the foot of the battle finally won — what should have been a victorious moment for her sullied by his selfish departure, salt in the open wound that would leave scars beneath her chest and crush the spirit he admires so much.

the first time she reaches out to him, he happens to be standing at the edge of a familiar pond, familiar night sky dotted with familiar stars that reminds him of the freckles on her face, sun-kissed from years of living outdoors with her dalish clan. he visits this place often, a glutton for punishment he cannot receive until he finishes what he’s started, but grasping for straws that remind him that there are consequences for every action he takes — especially the irresponsible ones.

he hears her voice echoing through the trees and tall grass, soft at first but growing louder as she nears him and for a moment, he is startled, unsure of what to do. he knows he should wake her, but her voice brings back too many memories, too many feelings. it fills the hollow pressure in his chest, causes him to grip the wooden staff he holds much tighter, as if it is the only thing rooting him to the ground, keeping him upright, keeping him from bending at the knees and sinking into the earth below.

the veil is particularly thin here and when he finally turns around, his vision of her is sharp, crisp, as if this isn’t a dream or a memory, but rather the same event — he knows she wishes for a different ending, an ending he will not give her, for the  _elvhenan_  need him more than she needs him, more than he needs her. her eyes pierce his with despair and rage and maybe even loathing, a byproduct of the carefully chosen words he gave her when she arrived in his study the morning after they last stood in this very spot. she deserves so much more than this, so much better than chasing after him in her dreams. he knows himself to have inflicted pain in the past, to have been cruel to others, but nothing he’s done quite compares to the torture that is this. he ends it again — maybe one day she’ll learn.

"wake up," he whispers, and she’s gone.

the next time she reaches out to him, he is in an elven ruin, wandering stone passageways with moss-stained walls, damp with cold, still water that floods the floors and leaves the bottom of his robes wet as he walks. he is a shell of himself, driven only by his one true purpose, but allows himself the pleasure of investigating the ruin as a small reprieve — one that is interrupted by a sudden shout near the entrance of the room.

he has his hand up against a mosaic of shartan, fingertips grazing the smooth surface of its tile pieces when he feels a fiery blast graze the side of his cheek. he sighs heavily and turns around, waving a hand and deflecting another spell she’s aimed at him with ease before pointing his staff at hers. a bolt of silvery light issues from it, jettisoning to her wrist, her eyes widening in shock as she drops her staff and leans to the side to dodge the blast.

"stop," he says calmly.

it is then that he gets a good glimpse of her, clutching her wrist with her other hand, her eyes glassy and filled with rage as she looks up at him. he notes dark circles under her eyes, stark against her pale skin, that give him pause, cause him to soften — she has not slept or she has not slept well, deprives herself of rest because when she closes her eyes she fears she’ll dream of the fade, of him — or so he assumes.

"you attacked me," she whispers shakily, accusingly, incredulously.

he feels familiar pressure tightening in his chest, but he is stronger than he was last time they met, when the pain was still fresh, when he had not quite nailed down how to live with it.

"you attacked me first," he replies, unwavering. "you grow too tired, too angry, and it hinders your judgment — there is nothing here for you, so why do this to yourself when you know in your heart that no good will come from these encounters?"

he knows his words sting like small knives laced with poison from his lips, but he also knows that making her hate him, steeling her against him, is the kinder gift he can give to her. he does not deserve her love, her rage, her longing — he does not deserve to be felt at all, but if she is not to give him that, at least he can teach her to hate.

"you said you would come back and explain—"

"when this is all over, yes," he interrupts, shaking his head and striding slowly towards her, placing a hand beneath her chin to tilt her head up at him. this close to each other, he feels himself pause, hesitating, he hopes she cannot see it in his eyes.

"there is nothing I can say now that will satisfy you or bring you closure and I cannot yet tell you the truth," he says softly, sternly. "you must realize that there are things I must do with this life that are more important than you and I."

he notes the muscles in her jaw and neck clenching, the tears brimming above the long lashes he used to kiss when she slept, her bottom lip quivering as she fights to maintain eye contact with him, to maintain her resolve.

"more important than what we had?" she asks quietly.

he drops her chin, takes a step back and hides his hands behind his back, gripping his staff to stop them from shaking — he cannot allow her to see him waver for even a moment.

"much more," he replies with a nod. "wake up."

the dreams continue in varying intensity and sometimes he finds himself seeking out specific places in the fade where the veil is thick and near impermeable just so he doesn’t have to worry about seeing her. when she does reach him, sometimes her image is so clear he can count the freckles on her face, the flecks of carmine in her amber eyes, which narrow with passionate resentment as he banishes her over and over again before she can stop him.

other times, he catches only glimpses and flashes, her lips as he closes his eyes, her voice a distant echo somewhere far behind him, her visage nothing more than a bevy of blurring colors. as weeks go by, her presence is nothing more than the wind tugging at his sleeves and breathing in his ears, and the icy sensation creeping down his spine. one night, he sleeps and he dreams of the fade, and she is not there at all.

he finds himself back at haven in the aftermath of its destruction, wooden shacks and broken tents burned and half-buried in the wake of the avalanche that had bested the elder one, if only for the moment. it is night now, and the chantry looms above him, intimidating still though it is in pieces, chunks of stone lying undisturbed in the snow, the tattered inquisition banner still hanging above its cracked and charred wooden doors.

in his mind’s eye, he can still see her marching out those wooden doors followed closely by the advisors of the newly formed inquisition. he remembers being so proud — albeit for reasons that had nothing to do with her — but if he could go back, if he could feel the way about her then as he does now, his smile that day would have been warmer, his pride less soft-spoken. even now, he feels the moment tugging at the corners of his lips and drops his head, shaking it away.

now that she is no longer in his dreams, he realizes he hasn’t taken into account how much he misses her in them — isn’t that the saying? one does not know what they have until it is gone — he hasn’t been hers for a while now and he finds himself agitated by how annoyingly melancholy this makes him feel. he’s spent dream after dream turning her against him, pushing her away, and now that she’s gone and he’s gotten what he wants, he simply feels… empty. alone.

something urgent wills him to carefully push open the chantry doors, which squeak loudly against their rusted hinges and reveal the desolate remains of an establishment once grand and lustrous for its quaint size. its roof has caved in and its stone fixtures lay cracked and crumbled on the snow-covered ground, but it is not the sight of the broken birthplace of the inquisition that gives him pause — it is the figure standing in the middle of it.

her back is turned to him, her hands placed calmly, unwaveringly behind her as she stares up through the hole in the roof towards the clear night sky. what little of her face he can see is bathed in moonlight and the veil is so thin he can hear her steady breaths in his ears, feel her radiating with… conviction? animosity? whatever the feeling is, it is not grief and it is not fury, but it also is not amicable.

"I am surprised you followed me here," she says without turning around — her voice is hardened, and it lilts in such a manner that part of him believes she may be toying with him.

"this is your dream then," he concludes. he opens his mouth to speak again, but cannot find anything to say — an unfamiliar feeling for one whose words are always so carefully chosen.

"I know who you are," she continues. his eyes narrow as he watches her slowly reach up to clutch something around her neck — a sylvanwood ring she’s shown him in days long past, a gift from her keeper, he knew it well. though, he did not know why she now wore it around her neck rather than on one of her fingers. he feels the resentment building within him, but bites it back — she couldn’t possibly know better and he would not discourage it. after all, this is what he wants.

"you  _think_  you know,  _da’len_.”

when she finally turns around to face him, he notes the resolution glinting in her eyes, her stone-faced expression cold and unforgiving as she slowly makes her way toward him.

"I was the keeper’s first," she says, her voice low and threatening. "I let you fill my head with lies, let you remove the  _vallaslin_  from my face, let you cast your spell, then let you walk away — I let you destroy me.”

"what do you want from me?" he asks, unable to refute her. he wants to tell her he’s never lied to her once — told half-truths maybe, but never lied. she cannot know how wrong she is, he cannot allow her to hope any longer.

"nothing you can give me, dread wolf."

she stands so close to him now that he can feel the heat of her skin, the hatred in her eyes piercing into his so intensely he can feel it burning at his fingertips.

“ _wake up_ ,” she hisses.

solas’s heart leaps in his chest and as his eyes snap open, he finds himself staring up at a dark, almost black sky, no longer glinting with stars, simply looming over him, ominous. the fire he had built is nothing more than smoldering embers and he turns his head toward them, watches as they crackle and die.

for a while, he just lays there, his pulse throbbing in his ears, his breaths shaky and disoriented. they will meet again, he knows this much to be true — at the end of all things, he will see her again, but he will not dream of her, nor she of him. the mere thought weighs heavily in the middle of his chest like an anchor, and he refuses to fight it.

after all, this is what he wants.


End file.
